


The Practical Pyromaniac

by asphaltcowgrrl



Category: Lethal Weapon (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/pseuds/asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: Detective Riggs & Murtaugh have a complicated relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a pool party challenge on LiveJournal, this is my first foray into this fandom. Might very well be my last, too.

Captain Avery looked at his detectives and resisted the urge to pull his gun from his desk drawer.  Threatening his employees with physical harm wasn’t ever the answer.  No matter how annoying and aggravating they might be.  “You two do understand what you’ve cost the city today, don’t you?”

Riggs looked at Murtaugh, Roger looked back at Martin.  Each silently dared the other to speak first.

“The way I look at it,” Riggs said, “we saved the city a ton of money today.”

“Oh you do, do you?”  Murtaugh looked at his partner and shook his head in disbelief.  “Now, I know I’m supposed to be on your side in this, if only to keep myself out of trouble, but I’m having a hard time understanding this, Riggs.”

“C’mon, Rog,” Martin said, pushing his disorderly hair back from his face.  “We took an unstable pyromaniac off the streets today.  Thus, we kept the city safe and saved it from any further property damage.  Not to mention all the lives we saved.”

“Never mind the six windows you broke, the two vehicles you wrecked, and the seventeen innocent bystanders you scared half to death.”

“Pssht,” Riggs said, waving a hand at the captain.  “Minor stuff.”

“You two,” Avery growled, “get out of my sight.  Now.”

Murtaugh glared at Riggs.  Martin stared back.  Rising as one, they exited the captain’s office.

**

“Did you really have to say that in there?”  Roger asked.  “You’re going to get us both fired one of these days.  Scratch that, you’re going to land us in jail, Riggs.”

“You’re overreacting, Rog.”  Martin shoved his hands into his pockets and scuffed his feet against the asphalt.  “We really did save the taxpayers money.”

“Maybe,” Murtaugh said, grudgingly.  “But you have got to start following the rules, Riggs.  Before we both land in the pokey!”

“So, does this mean I’m uninvited to dinner?”  He lifted his eyebrows in question, waiting.  “Trish said I had a standing offer to attend family meals.”

Roger narrowed his eyes and gave his partner a hard look.  “Maybe I’ll just tell her you came down with something.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Riggs pleaded, a grin pasted on his face.  Sometimes Roger was much too easy.

**

“The guy was a pyro,” Riggs said, running a hand roughly through his hair.  Trish had told him he needed a haircut and he’d denied it, but maybe she’d been right. 

“And?”  Dr. Cahill crossed one leg over the other and watched her patient. 

“And,” Martin repeated, emphasizing the word, “he was causing chaos.  He set sixteen bushes on fire last week.”

“Bushes?”  The doctor asked, curiosity written all over her face.  “Don’t pyromaniacs usually set bigger things on fire?”

“Yeah, apparently he was a practical pyromaniac.  He only set things on fire that could be easily replaced.  Trouble is some of those replaceable things were a little too close to other, not so easily replaceable things.”

“Like the warehouse that went up in smoke,” Maureen said, putting the pieces together finally.

“Exactly like that,” Riggs said, pointing a finger at her.  “Which is why we had to do what we did to bring the guy in.”

“Your partner would disagree with that,” she said.

“My partner,” Riggs defended, “disagrees with everything I say.  Even when he agrees with me.”

“Maybe you two ought to work on that,” she suggested.

Martin twisted the wedding band on his finger.  “Maybe.”

**

“Martin,” Trish said, wrapping her husband’s partner in a warm hug.  “We missed you last night.  Roger said you weren’t feeling well.   I hope you’re doing better now.”

Riggs rubbed a hand against the curve of his newly shaven jaw and smiled.  “Much better, Trish, thanks.”

“Good,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze.  “Roger’s taking the ribs off the grill as we speak.  Can I get you a beer?”

Nodding, he smiled at her again.  “Please.  Does Roger need any help?”

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head.  “He’ll only complain if you try, so it’s better to leave him to his grill.”

“I heard that,” Roger said, coming into the kitchen carrying a large plate of grilled meat.  “You pull yourself out of the infirmary long enough to come eat with us, Riggs?”

“Yeah, Rog,” Martin laughed.  “But I’m headed right back as soon as I’ve stuffed my gut.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Murtaugh grunted, the barest hint of a grin on his face. 

**

“So,” Riggs said, looking out across Murtaugh’s lawn.  “About tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Roger said, taking a drink from the bottle in his hand.  “We’ll show up, we’ll go out, we’ll do our jobs and, in the end, we’ll do what needs to be done.”

“And what if I go off the rails again?”

Roger shrugged.  “Then I either pull you back on or go over the cliff with you.”  He took another pull of his beer and regarded his partner.  “It’s what partners do, right?”

The corners of Riggs’ mouth turned upwards and he felt the urge to laugh.  “Yeah, Rog, that’s what partners do.”

“Now that we got that settled,” he said, giving Riggs a gentle shove, “you need to go home and take that mutt of yours out for a walk.  And maybe fumigate your trailer while you’re at it.  That dog’s so mangy that your place is probably infested with fleas.”

“Hey now,” Riggs protested, raising the hand holding his beer into the air.  “Leave my dog out of this.”

“Oh, so the fleas are yours then?  I should have known.”

“You know what?”  Riggs downed the last of his beer and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin.  “This is why I don’t come over for dinner when Trish asks.  I get no respect.”

But he didn’t mean a word of it.  The reasons he avoided family dinners at the Murtaugh place was obvious even to a loser like him.  He didn’t deserve to be included in all this joy, this normalcy.  Trish was doing her level best to change his mind, but it was a long way to acceptance for someone like him.

“Well, maybe you should work on that, Riggs,” Roger said without any weight behind his words.  “Will you be back tomorrow?  Trish is making her famous meatloaf.”

“Nah, man,” Martin said, playing it off as best he could.  “I’ve got plans, but tell Trish I said thanks.”

“Will do,” Roger said.  “Good night.”

“Night,” Riggs replied, leaving his partner knowing that Roger would be standing in that exact same spot when he arrived tomorrow night, perfectly on time for dinner.

What?  He couldn’t just let Roger know he was going to be back, could he?  A man had to work for these moments and he wasn’t about to give them up easily. Smiling to himself, Martin congratulated himself on finding at least one tiny shred of good in this fountain of crap he’d been handed. 


End file.
